


Bitter in Love

by honeyhoneyjo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Character(s), Other, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyhoneyjo/pseuds/honeyhoneyjo
Summary: Something about you liking meJust doesn't sit right with meI think it probably means you have bad taste- Hydroplaning, Eliza McLambGoodbye, pretty boy.
Relationships: Tim Stoker/Original Character, Tim Stoker/Self-insert
Kudos: 2





	Bitter in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a playlist to go along with this fic! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0bFM40IBt5nyFZW0zKCx0b?si=iEE3qRtGQk2RcPJZsPUjeg You can listen to it during or after!

Duck puts the last of their boxes on their new desk. It’s not in a private office, or anything special, but it’s a desk that’s close to answers about a world that has never made sense, and that’s all that matters at the moment.

The office is oddly empty, but Jonathan had said it wouldn’t be busy yet, as Duck’s co-workers are all busy working on assignments. He’s okay with the silence, though, and takes a moment to organize all of the knick-knacks and stim toys on his desk. It looks like a new age witch’s home office, what with all of the crystals they’ve brought with them. And also a Magic 8 Ball. They begin to shake the Magic 8 Ball, asking a question silently in their head.

“Looks like my mum’s hippie friend’s den exploded all over your desk.”

They turn around quickly and see a tall, very fit young man leaning against one of the desks, staring right at him. He has a smirk on his face, like he knows something Duck doesn’t. It would be infuriating if he wasn’t so good-looking. Instead, it just seems like the natural position his face rests in. He walks– no, he doesn’t walk; he struts towards Duck, arm outstretched. “Tim. You must be the new kid.”

“All the way from the school across town,” Duck jokes, and Tim laughs. They put down the Magic 8 Ball and shake Tim’s hand. “I’m Duck.”

“Funny name,” he says, but it’s not mean-spirited. It’s almost like he’s letting them know that he approves.

“Thanks, I picked it myself.”

“At least you know you have good taste.”

“At least there’s that.”

“I saw you carrying boxes on your way in.”

“And didn’t introduce yourself or offer to help? How rude.”

“I usually am the perfect gentleman,” he says. “But, I, also, was carrying a very large, very heavy box.”

“Really?”

“The evidence is right there,” Tim says, pointing dramatically to, indeed, a very large, very heavy-looking box. “For your first Archive assignment, would you mind helping me organize?”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Jon to tell us something to do?”

Tim laughs. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Most of what your new and very exciting and not-at-all-boring job entails is just organizing and reorganizing and checking up on weird people and weird houses and looking at weird things. And that’s only about 15% of it. The other 85% is mostly just me bothering Sasha while she tells me to work and Martin trying to impress Jon. You’ll meet them soon, they’re both on assignments right now. Anyway, Jon does very little except sit in his office and record statements. Speaking of which…” He opens the box. “Yup. It’s just… new tapes. Jesus, you’d think we’d never run out with how much we have.” 

Duck kneels on the ground next to Tim, and peers into the box. Sure enough, there’s pile upon pile of tapes for tape recorders inside. “What’s with all the tapes?”

“We use them to record statements. You know about statements, right?” Tim says, as he stands and walks over to a large bin.

“Yeah, but I figured we just used computers,” Duck says, as Tim walks back. Sure enough, this storage bin is also full of tapes.

“We tried, but Jon says that the audio doesn’t work on the computer, or something like that. We even got IT up in here, and they had no clue what was going on. So, now we use tape recorders. Very 80s, which I’m not mad about.” 

He starts to open up the packaging on the tapes themselves and puts them in the bin. Duck quickly catches on, and follows suit. “The Hawaiian shirt sort of gave away that that wouldn’t be something you’d be mad about,” they say.

Tim grins. “Well, if you’re going to identify as bisexual, you might as well commit to the aesthetic.”

* * *

“What did you ask the Magic 8 Ball?”

Duck looks up from his computer to look at Tim, who is leaning against his desk, playing with a mini slinky. This has become their routine over the past two months– Duck tries to do work on their computer, while Tim leans against (or, even more distracting, sits on) their desk, asking random questions that pop into his head. “What are you on about?”

Tim looks up and sighs, overdramatic as ever. “I mean, when I first met you. You were shaking the Magic 8 Ball, and you were about to turn it over before I talked to you. What were you asking it?”

Duck laughs. “Why are you thinking about that?”

“I don’t know, I was just wondering. Am I not allowed to wonder?” he asks, incredulously.

“I worry when you wonder. When you wonder, you end up wanting to play truth or dare and then try to dare me to ask Elias if he was ever a stoner-”

“He gives off that vibe! You’re avoiding the question,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger.

Duck is silent for a moment. “I honestly don’t remember,” they say, as nonchalantly as they can. 

“That was way too nonchalant,” Tim says, scoffing. “You totally remember, you just don’t want to tell me for some reason.”

“Yes, you’re right. The reason is that I don’t remember.”

“Liar.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am-”

“Would you two please keep it down?” Sasha asks, exasperated. “You two are literally the loudest two people in the office, and you know it. Could you at least try to make an effort?”

“No,” Tim says, grinning. Duck knows that one of his favorite games to play in the office is How Long Does it Take for Sasha and/or Jon to Get Annoyed With Him. Jon might be easier to make annoyed, but Sasha is more fun, because she’ll eventually start playing along.

Sasha sighs. “Have you considered that maybe Duck doesn’t want to tell you what he asked?”

“I can’t tell Tim what I asked because, as you might recall from me saying just a moment ago, I don’t remember!”

“True, true,” Tim says, stroking his chin and pretending to ignore Duck. “Maybe it’s very embarrassing. Like, ‘if I gave that fit guy in the hall my number, would he call back?’”

“I think you’re forgetting that you noticed me first, stupid. Maybe that’s what you were thinking,” Duck says. Sasha laughs, and so does Duck. Neither of them seem to notice the redness on the tips of Tim’s ears.

* * *

Duck had proven that they are brilliant at baking when they had offered to make a cake for Jon’s birthday. The lemon drizzle cake had been a big hit, with even Jon (who usually disapproved of fun in the office) asking for seconds. So when the question came up as to who would be baking Tim’s birthday cake for the office, everyone immediately turned to Duck. He was more than happy to do it, and had already been planning it for about a week.

This cake will probably beat Jon’s cake by a long shot. It’s chocolate, and, according to Duck, has a strawberry filling. The frosting looks light and fluffy, and Tim knows that the “Happy Birthday Tim” written in perfect cursive on top will soon become a distant memory as slices are cut and passed around. But as he stands in front of his cake, he takes a moment to appreciate every bit of this moment– the perfect curve of the letters; the hibiscus blossom that must have taken Duck hours to recreate; the way the candles light up Duck’s face as they hold the cake in front of him; the sly look he gives Tim as they all sing “Happy Birthday”, knowing how much Tim secretly hates this song; how, even though their hair is pulled back with a bandana, a few stray curls have managed to escape. Tim knows he should be making a wish, but he ends up just mindlessly blowing out the candles, trying not to stare.

“So, what’d you wish for?” Duck asks, a piece of a cake on his fork. The two are sitting across from each other on the floor next to Duck’s desk, with Tim leaning against the wall and Duck leaning against their desk’s file cabinet. 

“Isn’t that supposed to be a secret?” Tim asks, trying to make his brain move fast enough to process the question.

“Not when it’s between friends,” Duck says, smiling mischievously.

“I wished for enough money to buy Elias some weed and also bribe him into not firing me.”

“That’s a lie.”

Tim feels his ears get warm, and he is sure Duck can see his blush. He has to deflect. “I wished to know what you asked your Magic 8 Ball.”

Now Duck is blushing. “Jesus, are you ever going to let that go?”

“No,” Tim says, smiling. “Now we both have a secret.”

“So, we’re even?” Duck asks.

“Sure, we can be even.”

* * *

Duck has discovered that they have never truly appreciated the outside air. Outside, everything is open, and wide, and there’s so much space that if a giant, creepy-looking bug-woman comes after him, he has plenty of places to run to. Duck has noticed that quarantine also aggravated this appreciation of the great outdoors; while everything used to smell like sharp edges and disinfectant, it now smells like fresh air and sun. And a bit like pollution, but that’s London for you.

He’s currently savoring the air as he swings his legs on the ledge next to the Institute’s steps. They’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, and they don’t want to be in the Archive when-

They are suddenly pulled out of his thoughts as they see a distant figure approach. Sasha and Jon and Martin have already arrived to work, and Duck could recognize that strut from a mile away. 

The look on Tim Stoker’s face is one of exhaustion and pain, but he immediately breaks into a wide grin as he sees Duck swinging their legs, waiting with a look of anticipation and pure happiness on his face. He walks up to the ledge and thrills at the nearness of someone who isn’t a fussing doctor. Especially this someone.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” Tim says, a faint tinge of amusement in his voice. He holds his arms out, and Duck almost knocks Tim to the ground with the forcefulness of their hug. Tim laughs. “I take it you missed me?”

“Not at all,” Duck says, his voice muffled by how hard he’s pressing his face in Tim’s jacket. “I’m actually very mad at you, because you’re very stupid.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Your joke about itching that kept you in quarantine for another two weeks? Not appreciated over here,” Duck says.

“I was just trying to relieve the tension!” Tim says, trying to defend himself.

“Oh yes. Just imagine how much relief I felt finding out that I have to wait another two weeks to see you.” It’s not meant to sound accusatory, but Duck knows that Tim notices the hurt in their voice. Tim’s silent for a moment, and Duck takes the opportunity to reorient themselves with the smell of Tim; Old Spice and coffee. He takes deep breaths, and focuses on how Tim’s chest rises and falls gently, and the pattern of his heartbeat, and how it feels to have Tim stroke his hair again. It feels like home.

“So… you _did_ miss me?”

“No!” Duck protests, and Tim laughs as he lifts Duck off the ground in order to hug them harder. He finally lets go, but Duck immediately puts their hand in his. 

“Let’s go get a coffee, yeah?” Tim suggests, but Duck shakes his head and starts to pull him towards the Institute. 

“Jon needs us for some statement thing. It’ll only take a minute,” Duck assures him, noticing how Tim’s face falls. “Besides, we have to go in sometime.”

They both stare up at the building. Tim takes a shaky breath, and smiles at Duck, and the two walk in. Together.

* * *

Tim leaves Jon’s office looking furious. And Duck knows why.

Tim looks around and sees Duck, and the tension leaves his face. He starts to walk over to his friend. “Hey, you’ll never believe what just happened-”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can,” Duck says tersely. Tim recoils, but Duck can’t bring himself to care.

“Wait a minute, were you listening in?” Tim asks.

“You weren’t exactly quiet, and considering that I’ve been looking through files out here all day, because it’s my job to research fucking horror stories, I don’t get why you’re so shocked,” they say, quickly grabbing the first file they see and slamming the cabinet shut, quickly walking away. Tim isn’t far behind.

“Well, you’ve been around the office, too, you were at that weird intervention thing we had, it’s a load of garbage-”

“You idiot, of course you’re mad about that! So am I!” Duck says, trying to keep his voice down. “What I didn’t know is that, apparently, no one has your back? Apparently, I’m lost in my own trauma while Martin has his tea parties and Elias continues to not care? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Tim’s face pales. “That’s not what I meant-”

“Tim, what else could you have meant?” Duck sighs, and tries to hold back his tears. “I thought I was able to talk to you about all of… that. I thought you were able to talk to me.”

“Well, sometimes it feels like all you want to do is talk about the attack, and Prentiss, and how shitty quarantine was, and all I want to do is forget, Duck! I’m fucking exhausted, all of the time, and I just… I just don’t want to talk about it anymore!” Tim says, finally exploding.

“Bullshit you don’t wanna talk about it anymore! Whenever I try to bring up literally anything else, you somehow manage to bring the subject back to how Jon is a paranoid freak, and how Martin just wants everyone to get along, and how Sasha is just different now. All you do is talk about everyone else, and complain about how everyone isn’t acting the way you want them to!” Duck takes a shaky breath, and Tim can see the tears falling freely. “Look, I don’t love how everyone else is acting. I know I’ve been acting weird and now I do work under my desk or hide outside by the bushes. But you aren’t able to just indulge in yourself and criticize everyone else. I’m getting a bit tired of being your therapist, Tim!”

“Why don’t you just stop hanging out with me, then?” Tim says, and the hurt that flashes across Duck’s face feels like a punch in the gut. It’s dead silent for a minute, before Duck finally speaks.

“Fine.” Duck’s tone is ice cold as he wipes away the tears. “Then you can go over to your desk, because I have work to do.” Tim starts to walk away, before Duck’s voice makes him stop. “I listened to you because I care about you, Tim. And I…” Duck’s voice trails off, and when Tim looks at them, they look like they’re trying to figure out what to say next. “Whatever. If you don’t want to be friends, that’s fine. I’m gonna finish this Montague case.”

Duck looks down at their computer. And Tim wants to say something. He wants to apologize, wants to hug them and say he’s so, so sorry and he didn’t mean a word of it and he was just trying to hurt Jon and was trying to hurt them just now.

But instead, he leaves to go get a coffee. And when he comes back, Duck isn’t at his desk anymore.

* * *

Tim finds the rest of January to be extremely lonely. Eating lunch and walking to the tube station is not as much fun when he does it alone. His house feels kind of empty without Duck constantly coming over after work, and it’s weird to not see them waiting every morning on the steps. He finds that talking to Sasha is actually a lot more difficult than it used to be. It’s not Sasha herself, he thinks, it’s just that the conversation just doesn’t flow as naturally as it used to. Duck has held true to his promise of leaving Tim alone, only speaking to him about assignments and research. And Tim misses them. And he knows that they’re right– he has been treating Duck like a therapist. Or, at least, a sort of brick wall to chuck various complaints at. But it’s hard to admit that, even though the pain of missing his best friend hurts more than anything else. And every day, he just feels more and more trapped. He knows Duck is feeling the same way. They spend every day hidden under their desk, and sometimes, Tim sees a glimpse of them in a shrub in the courtyard of the Institute. 

He can’t take it anymore. He needs to talk to them about… something other than stupid cases, and stupid recordings, and stupid, terrifying things that make him buy extra locks for his doors and windows. He wants to talk to them about… something new.

It’s a snowy, early February morning by the time he feels like he has enough confidence to say anything. Duck is late, and is only wearing a light overcoat, sweater, and pair of boots. Tim knows how much he hates layers. 

He tries to stay nonchalant, focusing on his computer, as Duck takes off their jacket and pulls out a pair of sneakers from their bag. He disappears under his desk, but Tim sees the boots come flying out from the side, landing haphazardly about five feet away. Tim takes a deep breath, and decides that now is as good a time as any.

He unplugs his laptop, and makes his way to behind their desk carrying it with him. He finally stops and takes a deep, shaky breath. “Uh… hey.”

“I’m still not sure when that takeaway burned down, I’ll get it to you by the end of the day,” Duck says, and the exhaustion is evident in his voice. He doesn’t even look up from his computer.

“Um… I was wondering if I could sit here?” Tim asks.

Duck looks up, and Tim immediately notices how pale they look. The bags under their eyes go on for days. Has he been sleeping? “Um… I don’t know,” they say. “It depends on what you say when you sit down.”

“What if it’s an apology?”

Duck is silent for a moment, before nodding his head. Tim eagerly falls to the ground and leans against the wall. “Well, I would first like to say that I’ve been very bored without you. I’ve found myself doing actual work instead of just dicking around, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”

“We’ll say good, for now,” Duck says. They close their laptop and grab a rock from their pocket. “Go on.”

“Right. Second, I would like to say that you are not qualified to be a therapist, and I had no business treating you like one. I realize that it was unhealthy, and putting a lot of my problems on you, which isn’t cool, because you have your own stuff to deal with. And I know that it’s okay for friends to talk about shared trauma and stuff, but it was more of me talking and you listening. And everyone deserves someone who lets them talk and listens to them. And I’m really sorry that I wasn’t that for you.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I’m also sorry about what I said to Jon about you. It was rude, and hurtful, and just… not true at all. You were a better friend than I was, and I… yeah. So. That’s what I have to say. Also, I miss you,” Tim says, not really expecting it to come out. “I miss hanging out with you, and I miss how you make me feel safe. Or, whatever is the closest feeling to safety when you work here. I’m probably still going to be angry and bitter, and I’m not the same person I was when we first met, but neither are you. We’re damaged goods. All of us,” he says, gesturing around the office. “But it’s easier to be damaged when you know that someone has got your back in it. And I now know that you have my back.”

Duck is silent. They’ve been staring down at their hands the entire time, squeezing their rock like if they let go, something terrible will happen. His breathing is slightly shaky. Finally, he speaks.

“I asked the Magic 8 Ball if I would find answers about my aunt here. She was… I don’t know how to say it, but she just sort of… disappeared, I guess? She had been telling me about some trip she was about to go on, and she came home and she was… it wasn’t her. But everyone acted like it was her, and I felt like I was going mad because when you’re seven, no one believes you. And she was so awful. She would come by and just… stare at me. And she would keep staring until I ran up to my room crying. It was awful. And then… according to my cousin, she went missing. Or at least, her weird double went missing. I looked through every photo album and every home video trying to find something but I just…” Duck sniffs and shivers. “Anyway. That’s my personal horror story.”

Tim sits silently for a minute. He knows what he has to say. He tells Duck the true story about Danny, not the watered down one he usually gives. He tells Duck everything: from how much he loved that kid to every gory detail of his death. And the whole time he speaks, Duck listens to him. And when Duck says something, he listens to them.

* * *

While Tim and Duck’s personal relationship has gotten better, Duck knows that Tim’s mental stability is waning. Not in a “he’s going to murder everyone here” sort of way, but finding out that Sasha was actually another weird eldritch horror definitely made him more bitter about this whole situation. Then there was Malaysia. Elias wasn’t too pleased with the two of them trying to run away, but only really gave them a stern talking-to. Truth be told, Duck had had a feeling that it wasn’t going to work. Tim wasn’t too thrilled to find out that they had bought a pair of tickets as soon as the two had started to feel sick, but didn’t hold it against them once they returned to London. And then there was the whole business of him thinking that Jon murdered both Sasha and Jurgen Leitner. Before, he and Jon weren’t able to talk to each other without Duck getting nervous that one was going to kill the other. Now the two seem to be… as okay as they can be. Or at least in some sort of understanding about the other.

And then there’s Duck himself. He ended up selling his flat since he’s basically living at Tim’s. They’ve gone from wanting to be outside every minute of every day to being too afraid to walk to the cafe across the street alone. Who knows what’s out there, disguised as a human, waiting to pounce? However, while Tim only really seems to trust Duck, Duck can’t help but feel overly attached to everyone, even Basira and Daisy, who they’ve only known for a short time. It feels like they’re desperately clinging to people around them. Especially now that he knows that something big and horrible is going to happen soon.

The Circus has been preparing a ritual, according to Jon. And it’s going to change everything. So, what they need to do is… blow it up. At least, that’s what the plan seems to be right now. It’s half-baked, for sure, but Elias seems to think it’ll work. And Tim… 

Tim doesn’t really seem to care if it works or not. He just needs to do something, Duck supposes.

Oddly enough, despite finding out what their aunt’s disappearance is linked to, Duck can’t bring himself to care as much as Tim does. Tim seems to be wrapped up in the idea of sweet revenge, but Duck has had enough of monsters and killing. The only reason they’re going with everyone else is that if something happens, Duck is going to go down swinging with Tim.

It’s the night before the… event, and Duck is sipping a hot chocolate from the cafe. They’re sitting between Tim’s legs as Tim sits against the wall in his usual spot. The two have become more attached than ever, and physical contact that once would’ve made Duck blush and Tim’s ears turn red has become commonplace; the two have been holding hands, leaning against each other while sitting, even sleeping in the same bed. Hugs have become longer, and it’s become harder and harder for the two to let go of each other. 

Tim suddenly taps their shoulder and turns them around. “You’re not going to go to the museum tomorrow.”

Duck scoffs. “Uh, yes I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“That’s a dumb thing to say, considering I am. I’m going to make sure you and I get out of there alive,” Duck says, saying the semi-joke that has become their catchphrase. But Tim doesn’t smile this time. “Tim?”

“I have a feeling I’m going to die tomorrow.”

Duck is stunned into silence for a moment. They search for the secret look in Tim’s eyes that always gives away the punchline of jokes, but it’s not there. “I… I mean, we know that that’s an implied risk, but-”

“No, Duck. If I make it out alive, then we’ll have failed. I’m either going down with the Circus, or I’m going to go down swinging.”

“That’s… bullshit, first of all. I know you’ve been telling Jon to not be afraid to ‘sacrifice’ you or whatever, but what does this have to do with me?” Duck asks, setting their hot chocolate aside.

“I’m not about to have you go down with me, Duck,” Tim says, a bit of disbelief in his voice.

“Yes, you most certainly are-”

“No, I’m not!” Tim shouts. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, before continuing. “I’m bitter, and angry, and tired, Duck.”

“So is everyone else. You’re not special-”

“You don’t deserve to die just because I die, Duck! I’m okay with Jon sacrificing me, that’s fine, but I’m not about to have him sacrificing you.”

Duck rolls their eyes. “Jesus Christ, all this talk about sacrificing and dying. It’s fucking morbid, Tim, and that’s saying something. Nobody needs to get sacrificed or whatever-”

“Duck, I already feel like I’ve lost everything,” Tim says. “I have no sense of free will, I feel like there’s no one here I can trust besides you, and I’m trapped. Please. Just do this one thing for me.”

Tim’s eyes are shining, and it’s not like Duck has never seen Tim cry, but it’s not usually how Tim deals with his emotions, and it’s terrifying. “Tim, this isn’t… you can’t tell me what to do,” he says, trying not to sound desperate.

“I know, I just- I can’t lose anyone else, Duck.”

Duck thinks for a minute and then sighs. “I’ll stay behind if you promise something,” Duck says.

“Is this a proposal?”

Duck can’t help but snort. “You fucking idiot, no. This is serious, don’t joke.” Tim smiles, but Duck knows he’ll listen. “I’ll stay behind if you promise to not let me hold you back. If you’re presented with the opportunity to blow that shithole up, do it. Do it even if it kills you. Because I can’t have you resenting me if you come back.”

“Don’t be stupid, I could never resent you-”

“Yes, you could.” Duck smiles sadly, and Tim reaches towards their face, and wipes away the tears that have started to fall. Duck grabs his hand so he can’t pull it away, but they have a feeling that he wouldn’t have. “Can you promise me that if I promise you this?”

Tim gulps. “Okay. I promise.” He laughs nervously, causing Duck to look up in confusion. “This is usually the part where I would kiss you.”

“We always did enjoy a good romantic drama,” Duck admits, trying not to let on that he’s just as nervous. “But can you promise that if I kiss you-”

“If _you_ kiss me?”

“Whatever. But can you promise that you’ll ignore this memory when the time comes?”

“Yes,” Tim says, and at first he’s worried he’s answered too quickly. But he knows that he can. Because he’s angry and bitter; a man soured by trauma and loss. And he knows that Duck knows this also.

So he kisses Duck. Because he knows that he can forget easily.


End file.
